Safe and Sound
by twihardandveryobsessed
Summary: I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'll never let you go. I remember you said, don't leave me here alone. But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight.
1. Safe and Sound

'_Just close your eyes  
>The sun is going down<br>You'll be alright  
>No one can hurt you now<br>Come morning light  
>You and I'll be safe and sound'<em>

* * *

><p><em>'Patience... just a few more seconds...' <em>Alfred thought to himself as he awaited, bow at the ready, behind a bush, aiming for a rabbit.

His stomach moaned- five days without food could do that to you. Then again, the Gamemakers weren't making anything easier, seeing that they had exploded any wild game that had gotten near him in the past five days.

Just a few more seconds... The blood dripping down his arm didn't help either. It was painful enough to have it broken, and it got to the point of being actually laughable when they set mutts on him yesterday to mangle it even more. Lucky for him, it was still there, but...

The rabbit turned its head towards him, its bright red eyes gleaming, making him grin and nearly laugh out loud for the first time in a while.

But no. He couldn't give himself away. Not now. The Gamemakers were probably only allowing this smidget of food to keep the entertainment on... which means someone must've...

The rabbit blinked, and he let the arrow go, sending a blast of pain down his arm, but he couldn't possibly feel any better. He hopped up and was about to run in for it, when the strangest thing happened.

It missed.

Not _just_ missed, not even completely missed. It was as if there was an invisible wall of bulletproof glass right in front of it. It bounced off, and-

And he could recognize the gasp of shock coming from anywhere.

No... No, it couldn't be. It... it mustn't be...

A chill ran down his spine, his heart stopping.

And then it started again. But this time, faster than ever.

He stepped back two steps to try and balance himself, before running out. Out into the open, where everyone else couldn't possibly miss him.

_It can't be him, it can't be him, it can't be him..._

And he looked around... And to his luck...

He stood there, frozen in shock, unable to even register anything at all until the voice called out.

"A-Al? Alfred Jones, it can't be you, can it? You've looked better," Arthur mocked weakly, smiling softly from the ground, arrow in his chest.

Alfred knelt in the bloodied grass next to him, lump in his throat, tears in his eyes.

He grinned. "So've you. Art, I'm so, _so _sorry, I was aiming for the game, I didn't mean to-"

"It's quite alright... I was looking for you anyway." The man paused to pant a while before continuing.

"I wanted to tell you... Al, me and frogface, we teamed up... I guess everyone thought it was impossible, but we _are _family... I was going to... To ask you... if it could be the three of us. Just the three of us. B-b-because..." He had a coughing fit, spewing a bit of blood up.

"Because we're family."

Alfred lost it.

He began sobbing- yeah, even heroes cry sometimes- clutching the grass beneath him, his nails digging into his palms, knuckles white. How could he. Everything he'd done in life, every single decision he made sounded stupid. Everything. Independence sounded stupid. How he could've ever thought that he could do better on his own...

"Oh, God, I was so fucking stupid, I never meant- I'm so sorry, I was so stupid to fight you- if I'd have spent more time listening to you, if I'd have never rebelled, this would've never-"

"It-it's okay. Don't say that. I... I'd rather have everything happen the way it was... than to keep you forever, you little moron."

He had to clench his teeth now, to keep from completely breaking down.

"B-b-but you- you can't die on me, Artie, please don't die on me. Please don't die on me, please don't die, you can't die, don't die..."

And to his complete and utter surprise- the dying man sat up, falling a few times at first, but managed to sit up, and- ... and hold him. In his arms. Just like he did when he was a kid. Just sitting there, hugging him, and stroking his hair. The blood got onto his clothes, but Alfred didn't care. He buried his face into Arthur's shoulder, crying his little heart out. The two sat there, unharmed, rocking back and forth ever so subtly, a bloody mess.

"Shh, shh, it's alright. Everything's going to be okay." _Just like before. Just like when he was a little kid._

"How do you know?" _Little Alfred clung onto his big brother's shoulder, back then tall, strong, holding him up and stroking his back. His tears flowed down because of a broken toy- his favorite. Back then, the smallest things mattered so much more._

_"How do you know?"_

"Because you're my brother. Because you will always be my brother." _Just like before. Great Britain murmured soothingly into the child's ear words of comfort. Words that he'd never received from anyone. Words he wanted America to receive._

Arthur's breath and heartbeat came out slower, more faint. But the fainter it became, the harder he struggled to get them out.

"Rockabye Alfie on the treetop..." _He watched the little boy play around in his crib as night fell, humming the toddler's favorite lullaby, chuckling softly as he fell on his pillow._

"I'm too old for this kind of thing, Art," Alfred moaned softly, smiling and choking on tears.

"N-no... you're not... you're my... my little brother, aren't you? You'll always be my little brother... brothers... family..." _Arthur ran throughout the house, a six year old Alfred on his back._

_"Zoom, zoom! Haha!" the little boy cried, arms spread out. He seemed to have a knack for flying like this. Of course, Arthur didn't think much of it... until the boy grew up. And learned to fly._

"Art- Artie! Artie don't... don't leave me, please don't leave me..."

"You'll... you'll always be my little... little brother... brothers forever..."

"Artie, I beg you, please don't leave me-"

"Al?"

"Y-y-yeah?"

_"The... cat... was... a... tom. The cat was a tom! Look, I can read! The cat was a tom!"_

_England blinked, then looked over his four year old brother's shoulder to see..._

_"Y-you _can _read! America, you _can _read!" He laughed, picking the child up in his arms and raising him up in the air. "You can read!"_

"I... I forgive you."

Everything went still as the dying man slumped on his shoulder, ceasing to... to breathe...

_'I forgive you.'_

_An older America sat on the grass, towering over England, who sat next to him. They were stranded on an island again, in the middle of World War I..._

_"Hey, England?"_

_"What, imbecile?"_

_"I hate you."_

_"I hate you too."_


	2. Try Not to Let it Kill You

_Stay love  
><em>

_Where you runnin', you runnin' to_

_Awful happens all the time_

_Don't let it kill you_

* * *

><p>Leaves crunched behind him as he crept around, armed with only a rifle, in the thick forest part of the arena. His pursuers, of course, countries. He swung around, expecting some other country he'd fought before but didn't really hate. Not enough to kill, anyways. But there was nothing… The funny thing was, they weren't exactly countries anymore, however… The Gamemakers were smart, he had to give them that. To be able to program an arena capable of turning countries into mere mortals?<p>

And where was the grump of a Brit he'd sent off anyway? He should be back by now, unless… But Francis decided not to think on the worst. He'd be coming back anyhow, with Alfred bounding along after him, right? They were in an alliance now, he was sure of it.

As a figure moved out of the shadows and into the light, he raised his rifle. The redhead raised his arms, as if surrendering.

"Whoa there, I wasn't going teh attack ye," the Scotsman shouted.

Francis almost grinned. "Ian, 'ow nice to see you again."

The other man put his arms down, stepping forward, a dark look on his face. "Grave news, I'm afraid. Gamemakers killed off another one 'f us."

Francis frowned. "Who now?"

"…. Arthur, he's not… well, he's not…" He put a hand on his shoulder. "He's not coming. Ye might as well break the alliance. 's what the American lad wanted me to tell ye."

Francis frowned, lowering his rifle so that he was now using it as a crutch. It was hard to believe that a man as headstrong as Arthur would be taken down by the Gamemakers. He knew that if he wanted to survive, Arthur would have to die, but why now?

"How's Alfred taking it?"

Ian bit his lip, lowering his head. He creased his brows. He, of course, like so many of the other countries, had seen the heartbreaking farewell scene. He, like so many others, had seen the cruelty of what the Gamemakers were capable of. He'd seen the hurt, but even more, he'd seen the bond between the two brothers that he'd never had between any of his brothers. He'd felt it.

"Well… that's… that's the worst part."

"How damaged is he?" Francis just had to ask. He'd seen how the murder of a loved one could affect a human. But, how would a nation react to a fellow country being killed? They had known each other for lifetimes, creating a bond with a strength that neither were aware of. Francis just hoped that the American wouldn't be changed too much by Arthur's death.

The Scott stared at the other man wearily. "He's cut off every alliance. He thinks it's every country for 'imself now. He's gone mad, he 'as. At any rate, 'e's providing enough entertainment for the Capitol as it is. Probably going to kill someone else pretty soon though, I'd expect."

Sighing, Francis ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten quite long since he was chosen. He'd have to cut it if he made it out alive. He let out another sigh, staring briefly up at the clear sky. It was a beautiful day, sunny, barely any clouds, birds chirping. It was too beautiful for something like this.

"What has the world come to?"

"Beats me. Wish I could prevent someone else from dying, but to do that, I'd have to…" He coughed. "Wonder if it's how well the lot of us are gettin' along tha's makin' the Gamemakers kill on purpose, eh?" He paused for a minute, watching the other man's reaction.

"I believe zat's true." Francis replied, running a hand through his hair as he thought. It had grown a bit since the games started. He would have to cut it soon, when, _if _he made it out alive.

"I just vish zis vas easier. I can't kill my kin. I vish we could end zis all some different way."

Ian hesitated for a moment. If he was going to do what he was planning to do, he'd have to time it right, or either the Gamemakers would catch on, or Francis would not.

"Oi, what're you doin' on my land? Have you gone so mad as to ask for death?" he snarled, hoping the other man would play along. If he didn't… well, he might've just triggered his own death.

As Ian hoped, Francis caught on, putting on an enraged face, just in case the gamekeepers were watching.

"_Your _land? 'Zis is _my_ land! So I'd suggest you get off of my land or a bullet's going clean through your 'eart!"

"_You_," Ian growled. "_You_ were the one that always caused trouble. Raging war on me every possible damn moment. Just like my little brother always said. You were the worst _bastard_ on the whole of Europe!" He hoped he'd put enough hatred in his act, because he obviously hadn't meant all that. "Foolish, insolent little son of a-"

"Don't you dare finish zat!" Francis shouted, raising his rifle and pointing, finger resting on the trigger. He growled, rifle moving between Ian's head and heart.

"Such a hypocrite you are! How did you treat your own little brother, Ian?"

The retaliation rung loud and clear in his head, and for once, he didn't know how to answer. His hands wavered at their position on his own gun, and he bit his tongue so hard it bled.

"He's dead. He's dead, is what he is. He's dead and it's all because you… sent him out. Sent him out to be _killed._ It's your fault he's dead…" He quickly found his resolve again. "He's _dead_! He's _dead_ and it's all your fault! I-I should've known you would do it someday! I should've known… it was in your head. All along. To _kill him_."

For a moment, Francis was sure that Ian was sincere, fearing that he accidentally set his friend off to kill him. But the glint in the Scotsman's eyes told him otherwise, to shoot for his shoulder so that it would look like a death.

"Now, it never was my idea to kill him, but now I'll see that you'll have died along with Arthur. Say hello for me when you see him again."

He raised his rifle and shot.

Now Ian wasn't surprised because it hadn't hit him, he'd expected that in the least. What did surprise him, though, that it wasn't _him_, it'd hit, but another boy, who let out a gasp of pain and collapsed to his knees behind him.

He turned around, staggering back a few steps to stable himself before coming back into reality. "I-I'll go get help." He dashed off for the lake area of the arena, leaving the other two in the forest.

Eyes widening, Francis dropped the rifle, lunging towards the shot boy. The boy didn't have a chance to hit the ground, being caught by Francis as he fell. The shock of shooting the innocent boy left Francis, allowing his head to clear and figure out who he hit.

He wished his mind remained foggy. The blond hair, the curl, the violet eyes and dislodged glasses.

"No, Mathieu! This can't be you. No...please." He mumbled hurriedly, shaking the limp body in his arms. A quiet, agonized groan almost went unnoticed.

"Francis?" The boy was squinting now, a distant look in his eyes. Mathieu groaned in pain, a hand flying up to clutch his bleeding chest. His other hand gripped a small white bear whose white fur was slowly becoming stained with its master's blood.

"Oh my God, Mathieu, oh God."

"H-hello, France. Long t-time no see, eh?" Matthew smiled, and spoke in the soft, gentle voice he always spoke in, clouded with blood splattering coughs.

"No, no, no, st-stay with me, _please_ stay… with me…" Francis choked back a sob as he looked around. Ian had to be back by now, he had to, he had to… "_Mon Dieu,_ someone _help_! Help! Help!" He yelled out, but no one seemed to come, or hear, it seemed.

"You c-can't leave me, not now, not you! Not _mon petit Matthieu_, no, no, _no_…"

Matthieu let out a small chuckle, tilting his head to get a better look at his older brother's eyes. He felt heavy, like he was made of lead, unable to move. Was this what dying is like?

"I'm sorry, F-Francis, but..I...can't promise you that." The pain that welled up in his chest and throat prompted Matthieu to choose his words wisely, they may just be his last.

"Promise me you'll stay just a while longer…" The same exact words he'd said when England took his little brother over. Little did England know the pain he had caused.

Tears had spilled over a while back, but they continued to flow, as if there were an endless channel of tears his eyes had never recognized. Until now. The dam had broken.

"Just a while longer. Oh, God, do you know how much you mean to me, you little brat? Do you know how much I've felt over you? Do you know the pain you're causing me right now, mon petit frère? Do you know how much I still care for you? I never left you for the other man to take you in, you know. I… I still wish I could've taken you back, oh God, please forgive me. I've done you so much wrong." Francis was practically sobbing now.

Matthieu laughed lightly, slowly and shakily moving a hand to cover his brother's.

"You c-can be rather stupid sometimes. I-I've forgiven you years ago. Take Kuma. He-he's yours." With that, his eyes closed, breaths becoming slower and more labored.

"Remember, he likes maple."

"No…" Francis refused to believe what was going on right in front of him. It was just a bad dream. Just a bad dream. He shoved the polar bear back into the dying boy's arms. "No, you can't just give up like that. Fight, Matthew, for my sake, please fight."

And he did something he wouldn't have done in any other case. He tore a strip from his shirt and used it to soak up the Canadian's blood. "Fight. Come on, fight. You are loved. Listen to me, you are _loved_. Yao, Ivan, Arthur, they all love you. Cuba, he loves you. Your- your other brother. Your identical brother. He loves you more than you think. It would kill him to see you like this. It would break him even more, I…" Looking back, he had never said this and meant it as much as he did now. "Je t'aime."

"_Je t'aime_, Francis. But this fight," he paused to find his strength, just one more time. "is one that cannot be won. Protect Alfred and keep Kuma close. Please, e-end this madness. Remember, _Je t'aime."_ Smiling softly, he felt his pain leave him, Francis' cries slowly becoming quieter. A strange warmth surrounded him as he whispered one last word, wishing he could say more.

"Win."

The boy died. Just like that. In his very arms. And Francis didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do, because he'd never had a loved one die before. Not as loved as Matthew was, at least. So he did what first came into his mind. He picked the boy up and cradled him in his arms, humming a lullaby under his breath, treating the boy as the little child he once knew. The one child he'd held in his arms once before. He watched the boy die as he had watched the boy fall asleep.

"Sleep well, mon cher Matthieu. Demain est un jour nouveau." He whispered to the dead body as if it were simply sleeping.

**Author's note: Demain est un jour nouveau means tomorrow is a brand new day in French**


End file.
